But the day of their wedding approached. Only five days and they would pledge their vows at the altar; then they would leave the great city and in a peaceful retreat would enjoy pure happiness undisturbed by the storm and stress of life. This at least was the future they hoped for.
Chaudoreille, urged by a desire to receive the recompense the barber had promised him, had already presented himself three times at the latter's house, saying,—
"Has the marriage taken place?"
"Not yet," answered Touquet.
Then Chaudoreille departed, muttering,—
"I wish they'd hurry now. What the deuce! I need some money. Why, in twelve days I'd have married a dozen women."
CHAPTER III
A Day with Chaudoreille
CHAUDOREILLE, who had not yet received the two pieces of gold which the barber had promised him found himself in his usual penniless condition as he went one fine morning down the Rue des Petits Carreaux. He was just coming from the Saint-Germain fair, where he had not on this occasion found anybody disposed to receive a lesson in skittles, and he was going towards the Saint-Laurent fair, hoping that fortune would be somewhat more favorable to him in the latter haunt.
Following his custom, Chaudoreille walked with his nose in the air, ogling from one side to the other; his left hand on his hip, and his right hand caressing his mustache. As he approached the boulevards he felt somebody pull gently at his mantle. The pusillanimous fellow started with fright, but on turning his head he perceived an old servant maid, and seeing he had nothing to fear he put his hand on his sword, and cried loudly,—
"By jingo! I thought it was a man and I was going to demand his reason for touching me. What do you want with me? Don't pull my mantle so hard, it's a little decayed."